


Kiwi

by confundedgryffindor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Clubbing, Drinking, F/M, I dont know how to tag, Pining, but it is ! okay !, far too much use of the words 'grin' 'grinning' and 'laughs', gift fic', it's a fic by me there's not much to expect, of some sort, weirdly poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confundedgryffindor/pseuds/confundedgryffindor
Summary: “I keep going to this club called Kiwi, never looking for someone to go home with but always ending up staring at you.”
Relationships: Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Kiwi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonecoldhedwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldhedwig/gifts).



> wouldn't you look at that. a super late birthday fic for kt, my platonic soulmate, probably. 
> 
> i've never written blackinnon before but i hope this is adequate, at least. i quite like it, which is RARE, though i am obviously paranoid that i accidentally wrote marlene as a mary sue, which was not my intention. anyway enjoy pls
> 
> title and fic lowkey inspired by harry styles' song kiwi

_ Kiwi _ is a stupid name for a nightclub. The worst, even.

Sirius remembers when Lily and James first dragged him here; all three plastered and tripping over their own feet, laughing at nothing after a night of hitting every club and bar they could find in their town. Bright green neon letters lit up the sign over the door:  _ Kiwi.  _ A stupid, stupid name that Sirius laughed even more at, holding onto James' worn aviator jacket to keep upright.

The club itself, however, is not stupid. The music always vibrates in the floor; loud drums and electric guitars and rough voices singing about pretty lips and whisky drenched tongues. Neon strobe lights paint the floors purple and green, and the  _ energy.  _ The energy of bouncing bodies and shrieks of laughter and song lyrics gives Sirius a buzz greater than alcohol.

It's his new—though it’s not so new anymore—place to go to every Friday; sometimes with Lily, James, Remus and Peter, sometimes just the boys, sometimes with Lily and sometimes alone. Every Friday, drinking arsey-sounding cocktails that change colour under the strobe lights, dancing with a beer bottle in hand whose contents spill down on Sirius's shoes, no doubt. Every Friday, and lately, it's been to see if  _ the girl  _ is there.

Sirius likes to not think about what he's doing, and rather just do what he wants and deal with it later, which sometimes— _ sometimes,  _ not every weekend,  _ James _ —leads to him dragging someone home. Girl, boy, gender non-conforming; Sirius doesn't care. He likes to let loose, likes not to think for one night, likes to feel alive, and yet, when he closes his eyes with his lips against a stranger's, he imagines another stranger.  _ The girl.  _

The tall girl with the blonde hair who dances in purple heels and drinks whisky so far from the cocktails Sirius drinks. He doesn't know if he imagines it each time, but it feels like she stands close to Sirius on purpose, bends over the bar and grins at the bartender as though she wants to grin at Sirius. She dances like nobody's watching, grins and laughs and throws her hands into the air as he jumps around. Each time. Every single Friday, the tall girl is there with her smudged eyeliner and leather jacket that looks like Sirius', purple lips and a grin on her face. She's never said a word to him, and Sirius hasn't said one to her either, but he still finds himself looking for her every Friday.

This Friday, Sirius goes to Kiwi alone—everyone else are too exhausted after long days of work and  _ being functional adults, Padfoot _ . It's fine. Sirius isn't even slightly hurt. Being here alone means that he can drink his arsey-sounding cocktails without Lily and Remus grimacing at him, and he can check out  _ the girl  _ alone, without James wiggling his eyebrows with a, frankly, disgusting grin on his face.

Kiwi is buzzing, loud and energetic, and the air smells sweaty and boozy, and yet Sirius feels like he can breathe freely in here; he can dance with hair stuck in the corner of his mouth, scream-sing with strangers whom he'll never see again, drink far too much and go home when the sun is starting to rise again.

Sirius pushes past heaps of people, heading straight for the bar with a faint smile on his lips. He sits down by the bar, taps it to get the bartender's attention, and when she asks what he wants, he says  _ surprise me.  _ He thinks the drink he receives only a few moments later is red, but it glows in different colours under the lights; slowly drifting from red to pink to purple, as if it were magic—put under a spell.

He takes a sip from the could-be-red drink. It's sweet and fruity and ice cold, and Sirius loves it; takes another sip and smiles. People are dancing out on the shiny dance floor, jumping into each other and accidentally smacking one another across the face. Sirius watches quietly, and  _ feels  _ how someone sits down beside him. 

And there she sits, next to him like a black silhouette against green and purple flashing lights. Sirius tries not to stare over the rim of his glass, but he does anyway; catches stray hairs lit up by the strobe lights, watches her raise her glass to her lips, and looks away when she looks at him. He feels  _ creepy _ when he stares like that, but she's too enthralling to look away, so he looks back, and her eyes meet his.

She smiles; blue eyes shining. She's got that smudged eyeliner on; uneven and sparse bangs falling over her eyebrows; purple lips and shining teeth. Absolutely fucking beautiful. 

Sirius wants to talk to her, wants to say something, but the words stop at the back of his tongue and he swallows it down with another, excessively large sip of his drink.

The girl is smiling still, and leans in closer. "Hi!" she yells over the music, whisky tumbler in hand. Amber liquid splashes up on the sides of the glass as she sways along to the music. Sirius grins.

"Hey." 

"Wanna dance?" 

Sirius stands without a word, downs his drink and reaches his hand out for the girl to grab. She grins, takes his hand and drags him to the dance floor.

Sirius doesn't know if he imagines the way the floors seem to vibrate beneath his feet, doesn't know if the way his heart races is because of the loud music and alcohol, and he really doesn't care either. The girl has her arms around Sirius' neck, and Sirius has his hands on her hips as they just…  _ jump.  _ He doesn't know if it qualifies as dancing, really, but he's having  _ fun,  _ standing close to the girl he's been admiring from afar for so long.

Sirius leans down a little, puts his lips close to her ear and yells, "What's your name?"

"Marlene!" she yells back.  _ Marlene.  _ It fits her, too well almost. "Yours?"

"Sirius!" 

The girl— _ Marlene,  _ tall, blonde girl has a name—laughs. "That's a strange name, eh?"

Sirius laughs too, heart half-way in his throat, beating wildly. "We're in a club called  _ Kiwi. _ "

"Fair enough!" Marlene puts her hand on the nape of Sirius' neck, tangles his hair that he didn't bother to put up between her fingers, and grins that perfect smile with those perfect, purple lips. Sirius licks his own lips, imagines what she tastes like. Chalky, probably, with the lipstick, and like the whisky she drinks. Maybe she tastes like cigarette smoke like he knows he does, or of minty gum like Remus—which he only knows after one too many drinks and a bet from James. 

They keep dancing, jumping and laughing, and the whole time Sirius is staring at her face; ocean blue eyes and smudged eyeliner. The whole world seems to spin around them, like Marlene is the center of the universe and the planets, the sun and all the stars orbit around her.

Sirius takes a deep breath, and leans in close to Marlene’s ear again. “Do you want to get out of here?” he doesn’t yell it, but says it normally, both wishing that Marlene won’t hear him and that she will. He won’t repeat himself either way; he’s too awkward to. 

She looks at him, bites her lip and nods. Her hand leave his hair, and she grabs his wrist instead. “Let’s go.”

Sirius laughs, he can’t do anything but to laugh as Marlene drags him through the crowd of sweaty bodies, past the bar where his empty cocktail glass stands unpaid for next to Marlene’s whisky. And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Marlene is dragging him outside, out to a rainy, neon lit street where only cars and taxis pass by. 

They end up against the wall by Kiwi, and it’s Sirius who pushes Marlene against the rough bricks. She laughs, and Sirius half wonders if she does anything but grin or laugh, but then Marlene’s hands are back around his neck, and her lips are agains his.

Marlene tastes like the songs that play inside Kiwi; pretty, strawberry lips and whisky drenched tongue, and, of course, a bit chalky with her purple lipstick. Sirius grips her hips and Marlene grips his hair, and Sirius can't help but to grin against her lips.

“You know,” Sirius murmurs, trailing kisses from her mouth to her cheek, to her jaw and to her ear, “every time I’m here, I look around for you, to see if you’re here, and if you’re looking at me too.”

“I am,” Marlene whispers breathlessly. “I look for your stupid nose, and your hair, because I’ve never seen someone with a nose as pointy as yours.”

Sirius laughs. “I’ve never seen someone dance as freely like you do. You… you don’t seem to care who’s watching.”

“I don’t,” says Marlene. “Except, maybe you, and your stupid nose and your beautiful eyes.”

“Would you stop calling my nose stupid?” Sirius laughs, nipping at Marlene’s ear before he kisses her neck instead. 

“Nah,” she says. “Someone as perfect as you need an imperfection, don’t you think?”

“What’s your imperfection, then?”

“I keep going to this club called Kiwi, never looking for someone to go home with but always ending up staring at you.”


End file.
